Comtemplating The "ow" In Sorrow
Comtemplating The "Ow!" In Sorrow.
It's that ow one finds in sorrow,
it's the sore in what I did,
something sordid severing love.
It's is clear what is demeaning
when one clearly understands
how I hurt you with my words.
It's remorse code, plain and simple
as I sit and tap my fingers
waiting here for you to call.
While camping in my peni-tent,
on a path that is pathetic,
my ab-soul-lution can't be found
in these tears upon my face.
But they say love is forgiving,
and if there's any kind of giving
left inside of you for me...
I will cherish its sweet blessings
with a promise not to hurt you,
now that I have seen your pain.
It's the -one- that's found in l-one-ly
which at this moment is me,
it's the ache found in two souls detached,
separated from your arms.
It's the end that's found in friendless,
less the best friend I have known.
I'll understand if you forsake me,
but for my sake, Please come home.